At these words the Dictator, who was washing the soap from his face, looked up in surprise over a towel. He knew that the Marquis was a personal friend of Veintemilla. Natividad looked away uneasily, for he was compromising himself horribly.
“The master of Peru,” repeated the Marquis, “whose motto is ‘Liberty for all.’ I want him to restore to me my two children, who have been stolen.”
“Stolen! What do you mean, señor? Those who have done this thing shall be punished. I swear it by my ancestor, Pedro de la Vega, who gave his life for the True Faith, and was killed by the infidels in the year of grace 1537 at the Battle of Xauxa, in which he received seventeen wounds while fighting at the side of the illustrious Christobal de la Torre!”
The Marquis had always said that Garcia was in no way descended from Pedro de la Vega, and Garcia knew it.
“Those same infidels have now carried off my daughter, Excellency.”
“The beautiful señorita! But what do you mean by infidels? What infidels?”
“She has been kidnaped from Callao by the Quichuas... as a sacrifice to their gods during the Interaymi.”
“Sacrifice!... Interaymi... but that cannot be, señor.”
“I am sure of what I say, Excellency, and she has certainly been carried off. Let me introduce señor Perez, the inspector superior of the police of Callao. Like myself, he is devoted to your cause. He will tell you the same thing. Speak, Natividad.”
Horrified at the form of the Marquis’ introduction, Natividad stammered a corroboration. If Garcia did not win now, all that was left for him to do was to cross the Bolivian frontier.